


Tear the Stars from the Sky

by alnora



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in Heat, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, One Shot Collection, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Restraints, Sastiel - Freeform, Sex Toys, Wincest - Freeform, Wincestiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3613764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alnora/pseuds/alnora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short (and untitled) one shots taken from my Tumblr.  Will vary in parings and rating in the future</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1. Sastiel (G)

“A quick one, before Dean comes out.”

“Will we have enough time?” Cas asked, hesitating on the steps leading out of the bunker and to the waiting Impala.

Sam bounced on his toes but stopped before Cas could call him out on his impetuousness. “The longer we wait, the more likely he’ll interrupt us.  So please?“  
He had to admit, there was something charming about Sam in those brief moments he covered the eyes of his dignity.  That he felt safe enough with Cas to give in to more childish desires, unlike when he was an actual child.

Alright.  Okay.  Cas stepped down level to Sam, wrapped his arms around his legs, just under his behind, and lifted him off the ground.  Hands gripped his shoulders for balance, and while Cas’s view was obscured by his lover’s torso, he could feel the failed suppression of delight on Sam’s face.

But all good things must end.  With the threat of Dean’s interruption looming close, Cas gently lowered him back onto the ground.  Sam ascended the stairs full of what must have felt to him post-coital satisfaction, leaving Cas behind grunting “You’re welcome” to himself.


	2. 2. Wincestiel (G)

Home for Dean his mother’s smile and hopping around inside of his father’s car while he worked on it from the outside.  It was dinners at the kitchen table, several cookies eaten beforehand leaving the plate half full.  Mom’s round belly and “You’re going to be a big brother, Dean.”  Looking at his new brother sleeping in his crib like he was either an alien or a treasure from above, something he should be able to see.  Christmas morning and cookie crumbs, Saturday morning cartoons.  Tucked into bed at night.  _His_ bed.

Sam’s home was dirty, musty hotel rooms; convenient stores and Uncle Bobby’s.  Rods of a pull-out sofa digging into his back.  The world whipping by behind the window, traveling across America but never truly seeing any of it.  The moments of hopelessness in his brother’s eyes before he put on his brave face - the both of them would.  Home was finally remembering the town’s name only to move shortly after.  Home is what was stolen whenever Dad left.

Home was above for Castiel.  Where he turned from one of the youngest to one of the highest ranking.  Fealty and piety. The murmurs, the songs about Father.  The sanctimonious feeling of proving someone wrong or questioning his peers.  The feeling of safety despite such provocative thoughts.  A sense of purpose, of duty.  Stars, planets, infinity.

How one perceives what a “home” is solidified in childhood and will always stay with a person.  Cleanliness, a nurturing or less-than nurturing environment; rules, boundaries, security.  The brothers never tasted this, the other loosing it.  He never really “lost” it: he chose a different life, foolishly most angels would say, for the home of a different breed.

Tangled limbs whether the bed was just right or too small, warm breath on bare shoulders, fingers dancing against skin.  The sleepy mutter of something raunchy; a sigh, a snicker.  _Sleep_ , actual sleep… or none at all.  And Sam’s hair in everybody’s mouth.  It wasn’t ideal, but they knew it never would be.  For all the good and bad they’ve done, there was simply no walking away from it all.  These moments, just the three of them, appreciating, caring, adoring one another, to have them at all was like winning the lottery.  They were lucky to be alive, all three of them at once.  To have each other.

The scenery may change, the people come and go, but this was a constant.  “I love you” would always mean that, a shared meal a small celebration.  That cramped bed would always be cramped and the three men in it would never change.  Home is a concept, a place you want to return to because there’s no place that offers more comfort.  Home is a bond shared between them, going wherever they do.  The brothers finally found it, and the angel completed it.


	3. 3. Wincestiel (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sort of kind of companion ficlet to chapter 2.

His back against the headboard, Cas's back against his chest. Dark hair brushing against his chin and cheek, grabbing the angel's hand and intertwining their fingers. Restrained moans and wiggles against his growing erection (he didn't want that to happen, tonight's focus being on the angel in his lap). It is perfect.

 

Between Cas's legs lies Dean, licking and nipping at his thighs, head bobbing up and down, taking in as much as he could of Cas and sucking in his cheeks. The more he writhed around the faster he went, those pants and gasps being the only song he wanted to hear. The noises, the sparse but steady drops of come already beginning to leak out of him only encouraged him. He tastes so good, so god damn good. Dean's hands push his thighs further apart. Have to make sure Sam sees it all.

 

He does, and it's driving him mad. As much as he enjoys to sit on the sidelines and watch, seeing Cas disappear inside his brother, he greedily wants to be beside him, because that's what big brothers do, right? Share with his little brother? But there is a different pleasure to be found in being passive, a clear-headedness. It also makes being involved later on more significant. More intense.

 

Cas runs his fingers through Dean's hair, causing him to look up at both of them. After a quick wink and smile, mouth full, he resumed. Sam couldn't catch Cas rolling his eyes, but he did see the corner of his mouth turn up when he leaned his head back. Yeah, Dean was a cocky little shit, but when those pink lips stretch around you, he has every right to be.

 

Cas is closing in, breath becoming quicker. Sam egged him on with supportive whispers, do it for me, do it for us. The grip on his hand became a little tighter. Their beautiful little angel, so vulnerable and so human, _allowing_ himself to be for the brothers.

 

Dean never slows his pace as Cas orgasms; he wants it all, needs to hear Cas fail muting his cries. His body goes rigid and unwinds as slow as sap. Still being relatively new to sex, the intensity of his orgasms take him by surprise, which Sam and Dean see as a fun game. To see Cas so sated post-sex, sleepy and weakened to their more tender caresses, was a pretty good reward.

 

Once Dean pushed himself up to his knees, he couldn't ignore the urge to lean over Cas and exhibit no hesitation by kissing Sam. The taste of Cas, his brother, on his tongue; sparks exploded into existence behind his eyelids. He shouldn't feel this way, so... good. Not because it was wrong – he didn't give two damn about what society would say about this class of relationship. But because he thought he didn't deserve it. To be satisfied and content and to look forward to waking up the next day. He knew they felt the same way. Guess they'd have to keep proving each other wrong. Every day, several time a day if they had to.


	4. 4. Sastiel, maybe Destiel (G)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a headcanon than anything else, should Dean discover Sastiel is a real thing.

So Marie and Sam talking about… him and Cas -Destiel- got Dean curious as to what other couples his life has inspired people to write about. Jo and Dean - would that be Jean? Him and Bella? Yeah, there’s gotta be something about him and Bella. What would that make them? Della? Bean? And Cas, he’s gotta be getting it from somebody _other than him_ , right? If these crazy kids can write about Dean and his brother they can surely write about some angel-on-angel action.

And then it happens.  Written on the screen just for him: Sastiel. Considering the books discontinued around the almost-was Apocalypse and the hostile relationship his brother and Cas had up until then, those two being partners in cuddling seemed far-fetched, but so did all of these “pairings.”

But Sammy was right: Sastiel did actually exist.  He finally had ammunition to his taunts of “Deeeeeeestiel” and “I bet he did grip you tight.” And Dean grinned.

Dean was prepared when the time came. That toothy smirk Sam let linger too long after he mention Cas to him was met back with “Nice try Sam, but I’m not the only one.” Sam’s expression turned quizzical. “Seems you’re hot for the angel too. That Sastiel thing you laughed it up over a couple months back is a real fictional thing.”

His brother was finally speechless. Felt good to be smug for a change. “I… um…

“I know.”

“You _know_?”

“Yeah. For a couple years.” _Years?_ “The, the whole Sam/Dean thing got my curious about what else the fans of the Edlund books interpreted from us – the characters, so I checked it out. Well, who they had me paired up with anyway; the Destiel thing was news to me. Not to _me_ , I’ve always known Cas liked you a little more than he thinks he does, but I didn’t know if the books would pick up on that.”

No no, this is about you and Cas and not me and Cas. Please get back on topic.

“So by chance I found out about Cas and myself… But that’s it.  I couldn’t look any further. I was too embarrassed.” And he certainly showed it. Sam couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes and his cheeks flushed redder than any flower. If Sam truly was embarrassed his normal reaction would be “Shut up” or a nonchalant laugh. This was a “You’re treading into personal territory” reaction.  Dean would be too bashful to click on any of those Destiel links, he had to agree with Sam on that.

“You weirded out about people writing about you like that?”

“Kinda. I don’t know. It’s Cas and, um…”

If Sam turned another shade of red he was going to melt.

It hit him in the face as hard and fast as a punch. He tried to pick his jaw off the floor before Sam noticed, which was far too late. That’s a “boy with a crush, stop talking about the person I have a crush on with me, please” expression.

Oh. Well then.

His little brother was just full of surprises.


	5. 5. Wincestiel (G)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure Sam and Dean do not know how to play guitar, but I know Jen and Jared do. So I'm gonna roll with it.

“I never understood why you bought them if you never intended on using them.”

 

“It's a human thing to do, buying stuff you don't need or want,” Dean said, distracted with tuning the guitar in his lap. “Or an American thing.” Judging by the ear-grinding sound it made, Cas surmised that might take awhile.

 

“We did want them -at least I did- but not to necessarily play them,” Sam continued, sitting beside Dean on chairs they took from the kitchen. (“Dining room,” Dean would insist. “The area here surrounding the table is henceforth known as the dining room. If this is our house then we're gonna make it the fanciest house we've ever lived in. Ya know, give Cas false expectations.”) “We both played a little when we were kids so it's like a small reminder.”

 

Dean snorted. “ _I_ learned. You played shadow.”

 

“Don't let him fool you,” he said ignoring Dean, looking straight past him to Cas resting on the sofa to their left. “Whenever I asked him to teach me a couple of chords he did it willingly. No begging, no mimicking.”

 

“Exactly. You were trying to be me.”

 

“What's so horrible about your brother looking up to you? I think it's fair to say, Dean, that he still does.”

 

Dean and Sam shared a brief glance before diligently returning to tuning their guitars. The intimacy they had between them was easy enough to explain; the admiration both held for one another was a very different creature, which Cas found perplexing. To him they were one in the same, especially when one was in a relationship: are there not supposed to be admirable qualities in the one (more then one) you love? Isn't that in part what made you come to love them to begin with? Almost a decade on earth and there was still so much to learn about humans. Granted the Winchester brothers aren't like most humans. But maybe, because of that, they are the best to tutor Cas at a life of mortality. Not quite human meets not quite normal.

 

A short February day was coming to a close, the sky rosy in the large picture window behind the brothers. Dirty dinner plates and utensils sat in the sink (in the kitchen part of the kitchen), Dean's antediluvian well of knowledge trying to relieve Sam and Cas of guilt, that the “dishes aren't going anywhere” and will not rot by sitting there a couple of minutes. The cold ground outside was bereft of snow, much to Castiel's chagrin; the boys on the other hand were more appreciative as they reasoned Cas would somehow weasel his way out of shoveling the driveway. Cas was, of course, fully aware of his abuse of power and reveled in it anyway. What this power was he wasn't entirely sure. Dean said it was “the kavorka.” Sam said “that's not a real word.” Dean finalized that Sam didn't have a drop of it. No longer an angel, he still had the allure of one.

 

Sam, finally finished with tuning, strummed the strings as if they were made of fine china. “I'm not even sure if I remember any songs.”

 

“It's like riding a bike.” Dean was hunched so far over the guitar he was speaking more to it than either Cas or Sam. “You don't think you remember, but your body does. Play a couple of notes and the song should come back to you.”

 

“Well, I might remember one song.”

 

“So help me god, if it's 'Smoke on the Water' you're sleeping on the couch tonight.”

 

Unable to resist Sam plucked a string.

 

“Really?”

 

And another.

 

“You're really going to risk it?”

 

Another twang of the guitar meant a positive answer.

 

“Alright kid, you're grounded.” Dean lunged for Sam's guitar, his brother turning away and laughing, swatting back at Dean.

 

“Why must Sam not play that song?” Castiel had heard the song played on the radio many times since coming in contact with the Winchesters. There wasn't anything fundamentally wrong with it; a rock song like any other.

 

“It's one-” he slapped Dean's hand away “-It's one of the first songs people learn how to play.”

 

“Nobody knows how to _play_ it. They learn the first twelve notes, accompany it by going 'Dun dun dun' just to annoy people like me.”

 

“Do you know the entire song, Sam?”

 

“'Course not.”

 

Dean snickered. “Damn amateurs.”

 

Petty, but such is their way; Cas shook his head. “Well is there a song both of you know?”

 

“I guess so. Back then there was only one guitar between us, and getting our hands on one at all was tough enough. So a well polished harmony and melody, rehearsed little diddy you'd hear on the radio isn't something you'd get.” Finally resting his hands near his person, Dean looked to Sam and asked with surprising softness. “Did you even like playing or learning from me? I remember being a gigantic hardass to you. Most people woulda left splinters in my head if I treated them like that.”

 

Sam didn't answer right away, those days of the past, his early life, must have bloomed one after another in his head – snapshots in a photo album. “It... wasn't really about teaching and learning. I wanted to do it because Dean did it, of course. But the crucial reason I did it was because it was something Dean and I could share that _wasn't_ hunting or learning how to. Instead of disassembling and cleaning a gun, we spent time as normal kids, listening to and playing music and fighting about something that wasn't work related. We treated each other like brothers and not comrades.”

 

“But I was such a _dick_ , Sammy.”

 

“Oh I was pissed back then, trust me. I would have gladly punched you in the balls. But I grew up. I got wise to how Dad treated you. He put so much pressure on you I have no idea how you could stand under it all. You had every right to have your bad days. But you never did hurt me, like say something you couldn't take back. With all the “I love you”s Dad peppered you with after the fact, could you say that about him?”

 

“Intruder” was a word that manifested itself in Cas's mind since joining the boys in their departure from “the life.” They were together first: from the moment Sam was born over 30 years ago, they had a bond, even only as family. That was a milestone Cas would never catch up to.

 

A life without him... Would life be so simple to continue should something catastrophic happen to him? “You're not here because we pity you,” Sam would say. “We know you wouldn't stand for it. We _want_ you here and so do you. Dean alone is fine, but you're what was missing. If it was just you and me it's still incomplete, right? We'd function as a couple but barely. I never thought a poly relationship for anybody could work out but it did for us. We function together as a whole better than separate. Just like how it was when we were in the business.”

 

One cannot intrude when they are the third of a whole, the other 33%. The looks they shared between them were their own language, try as he might to decipher it, imprinted from being brothers and brothers-in-arms. Memories, and more importantly the shared emotions from their childhood another nuance to the lexicon. Cas wanted to learn it, to pick apart subtleties, but he pushed aside his petty desires and let the two have what was always theirs; it would remain theirs alone.

 

“Any requests?” Dean asked of both Castiel and Sam.

 

It took no time at all for Cas to cheekily suggest, “'Smoke on the Water?'”

 

“See what you started, Sam? Tonight I'll be tryin' to sleep and I'll hear him out here playing off-key and going 'Dun dun dun' and I won't sleep and I'll be cranky and you, _you Sammy_ , might find all your clothes on the lawn.”

 

Cas's eyes sparkled with good humor. “I promise I won't Dean. Well, list off a couple of suggestions and see if they're shared between you.”

 

The next 10 minutes were spent playing opening chords of songs and having it either rejected or passed on due to both of them not having it memorized. As Cas figured, Dean shot down most of the songs Sam learned or partially learned because his “taste is as bad as the food you eat,” which was a polite way of saying why the hell do you know that? Cas noticed inspiration strike Sam by the twitch of his eyebrows as he began to play... something Cas knows he heard somewhere before.

 

“Man, that's one of the first songs you tried to teach me. I'm surprised you remembered it. Hell, I'm surprised I remembered.”

 

“That's why I picked it, so start playin' already.”

 

It took a moment for Sam to catch up mentally and rhythmically before sliding himself into the song like it were a dance partner. The notes were sometimes off, though an insignificant amount for someone who has not picked up a guitar in over a decade. His eyebrows would draw in but never did he stop or become distracted by his errors, nodding a little as he caught up and correct himself.

 

Next to him, Dean melted into it, his stage-fright defrosting as his mind narrowed to focus on concentration. It stopped seeming so much like a chore -Cas nagged me into doing this- and more into something we wanted to do. Something he should have done.

 

“This song has lyrics...” Cas thought out loud. Loud enough for the two to pick up.

 

“Lyrics weren't part of the deal, babe.” Dean nearly twisted his fingers into knots in shock. As he let the misstep slide, Sam must have felt the same way.

 

“We, um... we don't...”

 

“We don't sing.”

 

“Sing in the way you would like us to,” Sam attempted to smooth over Dean's edge.

 

Damn Winchesters. Cas would have to take matters into his own hands. He rose from the couch and stood behind Dean and leaned in close to Dean's ear. “' _But I wonder does he know? Has he ever felt like this? And I know that you'd be here right now–_ '”

 

Dean's chuckle was husky. “When'd you learn the words?”

 

“' _If I could have let you know somehow_. _'”_

 

“You, um... Your voice is... pretty ni–”

 

“' _I_ guess,'”Cas and Sam both interrupted, with voices off-key and several notches louder than they should be.

 

“You know you two are ruining a classic, right?” muttered Dean.

 

Still at Dean's ear, Cas reassured him that if he was anxious about singing then he didn't have to, a kiss planted at the top of his head with the intention of easing him. Although Dean said he wasn't going to, Cas's interference or not, his body language said that he was relieved.

 

Keeping with the pace of the song Sam took over. Clearly out of his element, his voice small and breathy, he gave to the best of his ability. Castiel didn't think he would; his tiny venture into the talent that was song singing was only to get Dean hot under the collar. Sam continuing was... pleasant.

 

“' _Every rose has its thorn. Just like every night has its dawn._ '” A wistful look to Cas begged him to join him, that Cas was the one who encouraged him in the first place and that he should continue. Cas gently shook his head and ran a hand slow, slow, slow, through Sam's hair, him leaning into it like always and never breaking eye contact. “' _Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song. Every rose has its thorn_.'”

 

_You're doing just fine, Sam._

 

Laying back down on the sofa, Cas closed his eyes. Unless Dean felt inspiration and thought the best course of action was a guitar solo, the song would be ending soon. The boys would stop playing. Sam would stop singing. This one is different, the voice his ears hear compared to the one he did as an angel. They would sing to him and never know: their souls spoke, all souls spoke, in the language of song, much as angels did eons ago. Their song of union, not only a physical one, was as bright as a sun, one that spiraled and twirled with his grace, filling in spaces Cas didn't know he had lost – or ever had.

 

But that was the past. The songs are sealed, the senses dulled. And that was fine. He was still alive to _hear_ them at all. Losing his grace was the smallest price to pay compared to losing one or both of his mates. They sang, all the time, only he had to interpret it as a human would: words, actions, even inaction. And yes, actual song.

 

Using an analogy more befitting of Dean, his life -how he saw it through his grace- was one album, his human life, his quiet life, his shared life, was the next, a different sound but just as good. And he was there to listen.

 

As the song concluded, Sam, in one last act of defiance, plucked the first two notes of “Smoke on the Water” before Dean stomped on his foot.

 

Quiet in the sense that none of them were hunting anymore.


	6. 6. Wincestiel (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this](http://takethedamnsandwichsam.tumblr.com/post/119871710794/i-like-to-think-that-because-angels-dont-form) on tumblr.

“I’m ready, Sam.”

“I’m… I’m not sure if I am.”

How can Cas be ready for another go already?  Sam only just heard the cry of his release no less than two minutes ago.  Does nothing tire an angel out during their annual love fests?

He and Dean left tired behind two hours ago.  Or so Sam thought.  Time has lost all meaning in this room; it no longer exists.  A new president could have been elected for all he knows.

For the moment Sam rested alone on the bed beside the one Dean and Cas occupied, resting here meaning his body is so worn out he can only blink.  He might have limbs, he might not.  Dean wasn’t looking much better, forehead and chest coated with sweat, eyes half open and trying so hard to speak actual words and not something like “Nuh mmm na huuh min na.”

“I can heal you if it’s necessary.”  He now sat innocently enough next to Sam like he were injured after a more gruesome hunt.  And the son of a bitch was still hard.  He just came and he’s near fully erect again.  Cas isn’t an angel - he’s a damn robot.

“I don’t think this is something you can poof away–”

“Of course it is.”  Unlike the caress of a post-hunt heal, this was only a tap on the temple.  Less love, more urgency.  Granted the cramping and ache in his muscles dulled considerably, Sam was still feeling… empty.  He wouldn’t be able to perform the way Cas would like him to, no matter how revitalized he felt.

“Okay, it worked a little.  I’m just not sure if _I’m_ up to it.”

Cas’s face said he was considering his options, but he never broke eye contact with Sam while doing it which was more or less (more) unsettling.  In the end, he stood up to straddle Sam’s hips, positioning himself right on top of him where it mattered most.  The skin was wet against Sam, Cas’s hole and thighs slick with the brothers’ come, and probably from Cas himself.

Guiding Sam’s hands over his legs and finally to his hips, Cas began a slow grind, with the intent of getting himself off or getting Sam hard again; he wasn’t entirely sure.  Being so wet already, he slid effortlessly around Sam.  Sam had to laugh at himself: was it really that easy to turn him on, or was it just Cas?

The rocking increased in speed and Cas took himself into his own hand, grip firm and strokes more maddening to Sam than they were him.  Though Sam knew for certain Cas would not be able to orgasm without a partner, pre-come still began to leak from the head, most of it collecting on Cas’s hand, looking syrupy sweet and begging to be cleaned.  He needed to be cleaned.  Yeah.  Dean was probably passed out by now, so who else could take care of Cas?

Insatiable horn dog or not, Cas has a way about him that drives a person absolutely mad.

Sam pushed himself up, his chest nearly touching Cas’s own, and brought the sticky hand to his mouth, licking two fingers before taking them into his mouth.  Tasty as usual.  Cas seemed pleased with himself, as he should be.  He dragged his fingers along Sam’s tongue one last time before replacing them with his tongue, his moan vibrating throughout Sam’s entire body.  And his hips never stopped, no.  They became more forceful as Sam reacted more positively to him in mind and body.

He pushed Cas back to lay down, his head hanging off the bed a little.  Not that he seemed to care.  It wasn’t his intention to do so, but damn if he wasn’t tempted anyway: he knew Cas was used and wet and loose, he couldn’t resist to press two digits inside of Cas, who wasn’t expecting it at all.  The angel looked up with glassy eyes and grinned as much as his sex-blown mind could.  _Next round, Cas. Promise._

“Eh ahhna uu sah, ‘ammy?”

“Not sure what you said, Dean,” Sam said positioning himself between Castiel’s legs, “but I think I agree.”


	7. 7. Wincest (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this post.](http://jagerjensen.tumblr.com/post/120085959308/okay-but-what-do-u-think-about-dean-having-his)

Taking his mouth off of Dean and licking at saliva about to escape from the corner of his mouth, Sam asked: “Not enough for you, Dean?”

 

Well, it's not enough _now_ , Dean wanted to grit through his teeth. There _was_ a warm mouth on his cock doing the good Lord's work, so close to being fully engulfed, and two digits still working at his used hole, so slick with lube and come that all he could feel the curl of his brother's fingers inside of him and none of that uncomfortable stretching, thrusting erratically. Dean had no time to catch up before Sam would change speed and pressure and angle.

 

But he was right. He wanted to feel fuller. Sam's fingers, while satisfying, miraculous even, wasn't enough for now. Conveying his desire without sounding like a caveman would be difficult. It was Sam's fault, leaving him high and dry like that. If he weren't tied down to the bed, he'd grab a handful of that long soft hair and guide him back down to where that mouth needed to be. All he could do at the moment was gape and rock his hips into Sam's fingers.

 

Withdrawing, Sam kissed Dean's hip before leaning over the side of the bed. It sounded like he was rummaging through his overnight bag. “It's your fault for feeling so good,” he laughed. “And knowing it's just for me...” Retrieving what he wanted, Sam pushed himself back up, one of the variously shaped and sized vibrators they deemed fit for the road held in one hand. This one, while a little longer than Sammy, was about the same girth – details lost to Dean. He was empty, the spit on this dick was cooling, and was way too close to orgasm to have it denied like this. Sam needed to do his damn job.

 

The look of pure frustration must have been plastered all over Dean's face. “You got it that bad, huh?” The tube of lube used earlier was still on the bed, which Sam took advantage of. “Not that you need too much.” And he prolonged it as much as he could, slow strokes mocking what could be happening right now if  _Sam stopped being such a fucking tease_ .

 

Sam switched it on to its lowest setting and dragged it lazily between Dean's entrance and  perenium before pushing in the tip. If he didn't bite his lip the curses burning his tongue would be heard the next town over. This snail business was an abuse of power. Sam knew how close he was and still... If he protested, this sexual torture would be prolonged. Suffer now, revenge later.

 

He pushed in further, further, the vibration hardly registering. “ _ Sam _ ,” he all but moaned out. It wasn't Sam, but the relief of feeling filled once again was one he couldn't contain. After pushing in as far as comfortable, Sam abruptly flicked the switch to high. Dean could feel to up to his belly, ripples of pleasure making his toes curl and trust his hips into empty air. Air that has to stop being empty already.

 

Sam left the vibrator to do its job inside Dean while he worked on the outside, positioning himself once again between his spread legs and all at once taking him into his mouth as far as he could. Unpredictable. A gift and a curse concurrently. Dean was past overstimulated: every whir of the motor; how much or how little pressure Sam put on him; hair sweeping against his skin. He swore he could feel Sam's taste buds. He couldn't even manage a “Yes” or a “Fuck.” The only word in his vocabulary was “Sam,” even if in his head it was followed by “you bastard.”

 

With lips sealed around Dean like he would die if he let up, Sam slid up and down his length, down as far as he could before gagging and just the very tip remaining on his lips on the way up. And so slow, more for himself than Dean. He admitted to reveling in the feel of it, of his brother against his tongue, warm and smooth, and begging for release – the only time Dean would ever plead for anything from him. It was always Dean taking care of Sammy, Dean helping Sammy. For a few minutes,  _ Sam _ took tended to Dean. He held the authority, he commanded when and how quickly Dean came. Big brother would be riding shotgun, and Sam wished it happened more often.

 

Dean's control must have been satisfactory as Sam quickened, his hand now pushing and pulling at the vibrator at the same time. So good, too good. He pulled at his binds because what could he do, really? “Sam” continued to tumble out of his mouth, and he had no control over what Sam was doing. Possibly breaking the headboard was about it.

 

Delirious. The bitch was making him delirious. Needed to fuck him harder, take him all the way down, past the point of gagging. Needed to come already.

 

Sam seemed to like the sound of his name, a whine of a mantra coming from Dean beneath him, and would reply in kind with a deep hum right when Sam took him in as far as he could, and would repeat every time Dean did also. Almost like Sam was saying his name. And Dean would think to when the roles were reversed, being between Sam's legs and slamming into him, Sam's vise-like hands biting into the flesh of his ass making sure Dean never pulled out too far, and his own name muttered against his lips. Dean was the only person in Sam's world then, and what they shared was all that mattered. No death, no battles or long drives and fast food. Just them together, the way it always should have been.

 

One more thrust of the vibrator and Dean finally peaked, still only able to say Sam's name and pretty sure he heard something snap above his head. Sam's mouth remained on him until he finished, pulling off with sealed lips, because the finishing touch was watching Sam swallow. Yeah, that's always a good way to end things. The vibrator was removed and switched off, placed on already damp sheets.

 

“You made such a mess.”

 

Dean didn't have the energy to argue that Sam was the perpetrator. His come, the lubrication that he applied, the bed frame that would have to be replaced – all his fault. Just like a kid to think he can get away with everything.

 

A kiss on his neck made him forget about having to explain a damp mattress and ties knotted beyond removal to the manager, but only briefly.


End file.
